Dark As I Have Been
by Shaitanah
Summary: Voldemort reflects... on just about anything. Please R&R!


**Title**: "Dark As I have Been"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: PG

**Timeline**: Somewhere shortly before or during HBP

**Summary**: Voldemort reflects... on just about anything.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Harry Potter_. Truth be told, I wouldn't want to. I'd only want to own Tom Riddle. ;)

**DARK AS I HAVE BEEN**

It's just a Personality Crisis, please don't stop...

Teenage Fanclub feat. Donna Matthews. _Personality Crisis_

* * *

Even I was a child once.

Even I had dreams and hopes that burnt to ashes thanks to those bitter people that brought me up. Given the circumstances, I believe I have achieved enough. My goals weren't great from the start. I used to be a kid who wanted a home, a family, who'd have given anything to be cherished and loved.

Things changed quite soon. I could talk to snakes and do funny things whenever I was angry, or scared, or upset. I had stopped being anything like them. In fact, I had never been one of them.

Instead of crawling on my belly I'd swept through life like an invincible hurricane. Like everyone should, in my view.

I could never sink back to mediocrity. Having left a lonely wide-eyed child longing for home behind, I became a student of the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I despised those around me: either arrogant aristocrats, or unworthy muggle-borns. Again, I was so much more. I excelled in everything I did, and it was natural for me. Fulfilment of the promise I had given myself: become great. By that I mean, _great_, _grand_, _majestic_ – anything to nurture my ego.

I lost myself in that process up to having burnt like a moth to the flame. But, hell, _I am **not** sorry_! I haven't shed a single tear over my shattered past. No longer human, no longer alive, I'm still here when others fall under the pressure of _my_ joint forces. A mere memory of me drives people out of their sanity. My name is what they fear to speak, perhaps, even to think of. I am fear itself.

These days when my followers, marked and masked, whirl through England, bringing chaos with them, I think of him, the one chosen to stop me. That delicate, raven-haired boy with emerald eyes, shaded by his large round spectacles. They say he's their only hope against the dreaded Lord Voldemort. I say he's the next Lord Voldemort.

My point of view hasn't changed: there is no good or evil, only _power_. Power is our impetus. It has already taken so much from little Harry: his parents (in that we are even), his godfather, his fellow-student. But it will give him so much more so very soon.

Thoughts about my nemesis are soothing. I find it helpful to muse upon the numerous ways of his destruction. The time must come when Harry or me are no more. As far as I'm concerned, it'd better be him.

When all things should end, nobody will question my reason. Overcome by his emotions, young Potter will become a threat. I shall rid the world of it. There can be only one Dark Lord at a time and he doesn't need any successors.

Staring into the darkness, he pants as if after running, and I can feel it absorb his fear. He is afraid. Of me. Oh, well, he's not the only one.

I thrive on fear.

If noone was scared of me, I would have gone crazy. Life would have been so boring. But like I said, mediocrity is not for me. Far from it.

He closes the window, feeling raindrops touch his fingers, and goes back to bed. He shuts his eyes and tries to sleep, but sleep doesn't come. I want to help him for I have acquired a new habit: I spy on his dreams. I'm not human enough to dream anymore.

Last night he dreamt of turquoise waves washing over a sandy beach. Cool breeze was blowing. Feathered tops of palm-trees bowed to it. Harry was sitting on the shore, looking at the sunlit lagoon, his heart leaping with joy, a huge smile upon his face. I've never known such serenity. Neither has he, of that I am sure. I am the reason he has never seen true light. And I'm damn proud of that.

When he falls asleep, he sees darkness, so huge it blinds. Darkness is power. It will guide him. Like cures like; he will have to succumb to it if he wants to defeat me. And I know, that's what he desires most.

They say he's their final hope. They are wrong. He's their final threat.

Because he is every bit as dark as I have been.

_13. 05. 2006_


End file.
